


The Prince In The Tower And The Servant Boy

by katineto (mistalagan)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, fairytale, just a lot of run-on sentences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 00:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17539616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistalagan/pseuds/katineto
Summary: Viktor’s fiancé has long, dark hair and bright, dark eyes. His armor is polished and gleaming, his sword is long and keen, his horse is bold and beautiful, and he has stolen Viktor away.Viktor has a servant. Viktor's servant's hair is dark, too, and his eyes are bright. He does not wear armor, or wield a sword, and he is nervous around horses; but he is going to go rescue Viktor anyway.





	The Prince In The Tower And The Servant Boy

**_prologue_ **

Viktor’s fiancé has long, dark hair and bright, dark eyes. His armor is polished and gleaming, his sword is long and keen, his horse is bold and beautiful. When he smiles, people swoon, and when he scowls—

he scowls more often than he smiles—

when he scowls they quake and quail in terror.

Viktor’s fiancé is a leader of men, valiantly pursuing victory in battle. He has seventy and seven black sailing ships with a hundred and ten brave sailing men on each. He has companies of cavalrymen atop nimble white horses, and companies of infantrymen with long pikes and scarlet uniforms. He has vaults of gold, and halls of artwork, and castles of broad, hard stone.

Viktor’s fiancé holds him as a man holds a precious jewel, and Viktor’s fiancé holds him as a man holds a favorite dog, and Viktor’s fiancé holds him as a man holds a hammer. Viktor’s fiancé smells like smoke and meat and lust, and Viktor’s fiancé smells like wine,

he always smells like wine,

and Viktor’s fiancé smells like oil and steel and leather and envy.

———

Viktor has a servant.

Viktor’s servant’s hair is dark, too, and his eyes are bright. He does not wear armor, or wield a sword, and he is nervous around horses—

he rides them anyway—

but when he smiles, Viktor swoons.

Viktor’s servant smells of oranges and jasmine. He smells of snow and the far-off reaches of the sea. He smells of books and dust and poetry and laughter. Sometimes, he, too, smells of wine,

light, bubbling, fragrant wine,

and he holds Viktor as a man holds a man, sweaty and sweet, tumbling, thrilling, and he looks at Viktor like a man looks at the universe.

———

When Viktor’s fiancé finds them, hand to hand, mouth to mouth, he takes his long, keen sword and places it against Viktor’s servant’s breast, and he howls

_How dare you lay a hand on what is mine,_

and Viktor’s servant, proud and foolish, tells him

_I have touched nothing that is yours,_

and Viktor, wailing, lays himself before his fiancé and begs.

Viktor’s fiancé’s grip is like a hyena’s grip, grinding bone against bone, and Viktor’s fiancé drags him by his wrist,

but he leaves Viktor’s servant behind,

and Viktor’s fiancé takes him to the tallest tower, of the highest castle, on the steepest mountain, in the furthest reaches of his kingdom. Viktor’s fiancé leaves him in the uppermost room, with no door and no key, and he says

_Until we are married, no man shall look upon you, lest he be struck blind; and when we are married, you—with your eyes of clearest sapphires, your hair of finest spun silver, your skin of purest alabaster—you will be mine._

So Viktor, voice soft from weeping, asks,

_When will we be married?_

And Viktor’s fiancé says,

_When I have gathered all the gold, and conquered all the nations, and when you, my best and rarest treasure, are the last thing in the world to take._

 

 

**_journey_ **

Viktor’s servant wanders. He goes wherever his feet take him, to and fro, stumbling through open fields and low valleys, across wide rivers and down into a dark, tangled forest. He walks until his feet ache and his body crumbles to the ground in his despair, and the sound of his sobbing fills the wood.

It’s not long before someone passes by.

“What’s your problem?” snarls the skinny blond boy, his face as fierce as a tiger’s growl and his tongue as quick as a scorpion’s sting.

Viktor’s servant hiccups. “My lover is caged in the uppermost room, of the tallest tower, of the highest castle, on the steepest mountain, in the furthest reaches of the kingdom.” 

“So?” asks the skinny blond boy. “Sounds like you know where he is. Go get him back, if he means that much to you.”

“He was stolen by a man with bright armor, and a keen sword, and a bold horse; and he is guarded by seventy and seven black sailing ships, and a company of cavalrymen on white horses, and a company of infantrymen with long pikes and uniforms all of scarlet. And I have none of those things.”

“Tch,” says the skinny blond boy. “What’s your name?”

“Yuuri,” Viktor’s servant tells him. “For courage.”

“Well, Yuuri-for-courage, my name is Yuri, which means earth worker. And I am the apprentice of the witch of these woods, and she is tired of hearing your crying and carrying on.” The skinny blond boy sneers. “So I am here to tell you to leave. And that we should switch names, Yuuri-for-courage, because I see no courage here, but only a pathetic fool scrabbling away in the dirt.”

Viktor’s servant, though lost, lacks for neither boldness nor politeness. “My name is my name,” he says, “And since your mistress wishes it, I shall be gone. But I am not a fool.” And he stands to leave.

“Wait,” says Yuri-which-means-earth-worker. “My mistress has neither armor, nor a horse, nor sailing ships and armies; not even a sword. But I am to give you this,” and he holds out a narrow steel sewing needle, no bigger than the length of his pinky-finger. “And to tell you that, when you place it upon your palm, it will always point the way.” He snorts. “Not that you need such a thing, since you already know where you’re going, even if you don’t know where you are. And you’d better not fail, because then people will talk about how pathetic Yuuri is, and someone might think they’re talking about _me_." 

When Viktor’s servant takes the needle, the witch-boy vanishes; so he bows out his thanks to the woods instead, and, placing the needle in his palm, begins to walk.

———

Viktor’s servant follows the needle as it quivers to-and-fro on his palm (for it is always wise to do as witches say); but soon it begins to spin wildly, and Viktor’s servant comes upon a clearing with a horse and a cart and a young man strumming on an instrument.

“Hello,” says Viktor’s servant.

The young man, startled, strums an awful note, and the music stops. “Hallo!” he cries, and seeing the drying tear-tracks on Viktor’s servant’s face, says, “Why do you weep? You are in the presence of King JJ—there should be no tears here!" 

“King?” asks Viktor’s servant. “I don’t suppose you’re the sort of king with armor, and a sword, and a great warhorse; or the sort of king with sailing ships, and cavalrymen, and infantrymen besides.” 

“Ah,” says King JJ, “No, not as such. I am the sort of king with many fine songs, and a lovely wife, and the freedom of the open road.”

And out of the cart pops a head, and King JJ’s lovely wife waves to Viktor’s servant, and he waves back. “Oh,” he says, and he wonders a little about the enchantment laid on the needle.

“But you must have a story,” King JJ says, “Or you would not be crying; tell me, what is the matter?”

“My lover is caged in the uppermost room, of the tallest tower, of the—”

“—highest castle, on the steepest mountain, in the furthest reaches of the kingdom! Guarded, no doubt, by a dragon, or a witch. Ah, a classic tale.”

“He is guarded by seventy and seven black sailing ships, and a company of cavalrymen with white horses, and a company of infantrymen with uniforms all of scarlet." 

“And by _that_ sort of king, I suppose?” 

“Yes,” says Viktor’s servant. “And I have none of those things, but only a small steel needle.”

“Hmm,” says King JJ. “Well, perhaps I can help. But first! Let me tell you a little bit about myself. I was born in the great northern reaches of the world…”

So Viktor’s servant, who as it has been said does not lack in politeness, listens to King JJ tell his story, though the day grows long and the light grows dim, and King JJ’s lovely wife prepares dinner, throughout which King JJ does not cease in talking.

“—and now I am here! With lovely Isabella, the light of my life, and Bessie the horse, and the cart whose name is Hope.”

“That was a very nice story,” says Viktor’s servant, who quite valiantly had not fallen asleep.

“Isn’t it? I am working on refining it. It seems not many people enjoy listening quite as much as you have.”

“Oh,” says Viktor’s servant, who tries to think back on what, exactly, happened during the story. “Perhaps it could be a bit—shorter?”

King JJ pouts. “Hmph,” he says, “I shall _think_ about it. But for now, you must stay with us tonight. It is not safe in the woods all alone. There is a witch nearby, and her vicious young apprentice.”

So Viktor’s servant sleeps the night in the cart named Hope with King JJ and his lovely wife Isabella (and Bessie the horse tethered outside), and he wakes quite refreshed. And in the morning, he says, “Thank you greatly for your hospitality; now I must be on my way.” 

“No need for thanks!” cries King JJ. “I am a King; and what is a King but a good man; and a good man must always help those in need. Speaking of which.” He digs around in the cart, and produces a fine silver mirror, and hands it out to Viktor’s servant. “I have neither armor, nor sword, nor a great army; and my only horse is Bessie, and she is by no means a warhorse. But perhaps this small token will help you in your quest. I only ask that when you are done, you tell me the story, and then of it I shall write a fine song to sing!”

Viktor’s servant thanks him profusely, and follows the needle down the road.

———

The next time the needle stops him, it is at a small house, with a big yard, and a somber man in a bright shirt, and many dogs surrounding him. He glances up at Viktor’s servant, and looks back down at the dogs, and says, “Be on your way, then, unless you’ve come to buy.”

Viktor’s servant has little coin, and he does not think he can afford one of the fine red hounds that sit attentively at the man’s feet. But the needle has led him here, so he stands awkwardly, unsure of what to say.

The man looks at him again. “Have you been crying?”

“Yes,” says Viktor’s servant, because there’s no point in denying it. In truth, he cries at least a little every day.

“You shouldn’t care what people think of you,” says the somber man in the bright shirt, “It’s a waste of time.”

“I wasn’t crying because of that,” Viktor’s servant explains, “I was crying because my lover is locked away in a tall tower atop a steep mountain, and though I am trying to go find him, I am afraid. He was taken by a man with armor, and sword, and warhorse, and he is guarded by pikemen and horsemen and an entire fleet of ships. And all I have is a fine silver mirror and a small steel needle.” 

“Well,” says the somber man, “There’s nothing I can do about that. But I need someone to help me feed and run the dogs this morning, and I have a runt here I need to get rid of. So if you help me, you can have it.”

Viktor’s servant is nervous around horses but not around dogs, so he helps the somber man feed and run them. The man looks on approvingly, and when they are done, says, “You could stay on as my assistant, if you’d like. But you’d have to live in the barn. I don’t like company.”

“No,” says Viktor’s servant, “I need to keep going.”

“It’s your head,” says the somber man, but as promised he gives Viktor’s servant a little red curly-haired dog, and as Viktor’s servant is leaving adds, “Someone ought to put these warlords in their place, anyway.”

———

The little red dog is fine company, and very tolerant of being cried on. It trots along at his side, only occasionally distracted by interesting things like squirrels, and toadstools, and sticks.

Presently, though, they come upon a little town, whereupon the dog goes dashing off down the streets; and Viktor’s servant, panicked, closes his hand upon the needle in his palm and chases after it. “Dog! Dog!” he cries, for he had not yet given the creature a name; but of course it does not respond to that, and leads him on a merry hunt indeed. 

He soon finds the dog in a little noodle house, which sits mostly empty except for an old, old, man, and a young, giggling couple, and a tall, thin woman, the proprietor of the place. She is feeding the little dog scraps of meat, and when Viktor’s servant enters, says, “Who are you looking for, in such a hurry?”

“Viktor,” he blurts out, which is the truth, though not the one he had intended; but to his surprise, when he says this name the little dog perks up and comes trotting back over to his side. 

“The dog?” asks the tall, thin woman.

“Well, yes,” says Viktor’s servant, who gathers up the little red dog in his arms, much relieved, “But also another Viktor, who is a man.”

“Men are trouble,” says the woman, “As are witches. You ought to stay away from both. Drink?”

He cannot find it in his heart to refuse, so he sits at the counter while she serves him rice wine in a white porcelain cup. She pours herself a cup, also, and they drink together. 

“So,” she says, “What is so special about this man?”

Viktor’s servant sighs, for he has grown a little tired of telling the story; but he goes on, “He is trapped in a tall tower atop a steep mountain, and guarded by black sailing ships, and cavalrymen, and infantrymen also.”

“Yes, yes,” says the woman, “That sort of thing is to be expected, when you walk in here smelling like witches and stories and strange familiar spirits. But what is so special about him? There are lots of men who are not trapped in tall towers, after all.” 

“I—” and Viktor’s servant stops. “He has eyes of the clearest sapphires, and hair of finest spun silver, and skin like pure alabaster.”

“Oh?” says the woman, disinterested. “Well, I’m sure that’s why he’s in a tower, then. But there are lots of beautiful men, after all.”

Viktor’s servant frowns, because that is not really what he means. “When he dances, it is like the world stops, and there is nothing left but him. He is clever and he is curious. And he is sometimes foolish, and sometimes distracted, but he has a kind heart.” 

“You’re getting somewhere,” says the woman, and pours each of them another cup. 

Viktor’s servant drinks it, and it suffuses his body with warmth as he swallows. “He is the only person I have ever wanted to hold onto.”

“I suppose that’s good enough,” says the woman, whose eyes are somewhere very far away. “You have a long road ahead of you.” 

“I have a long road behind me,” Viktor’s servant says. “And I have nothing but a little red dog, and a fine silver mirror, and a small steel needle. But I have come this far.” 

“Oh?” says the woman. “I think you have more than that. But here.” She pours him a third drink, and one for herself also, and says, “You may keep the cup. I have plenty. Maybe it will help.” 

Viktor’s servant does not know how the white porcelain cup will help him, but it is never a good idea to refuse such a gift. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Not at all,” says the woman. “All I ask is that you go onwards, and take care to not have such regrets as I do.” 

——— 

So Viktor’s servant goes onwards, always following the point of the needle, though it leads him through cold mountains and thorny brambles. There is nearly always another path, less painful, that he could have taken; but it is a witch’s gift, after all. 

He and the little red dog are very tired, then, when they come upon the stone cottage with smoke rising from the chimney. He resolves to knock upon the door, and beg lodging and food in exchange for his labor, for the sun is setting and the night is cold.

He knocks once, twice, and upon the third knock the door opens. He is shocked to see a giantess standing behind it, with long black hair and sharp purple eyes. “Quickly, quickly, then!” she says, “If you want to stay, come in; my brother is coming home soon, and he does not like humans.”

“Are you going to eat me?” Viktor’s servant says in his surprise, and quite rudely; but the giantess only laughs. 

“I eat fish and veal and mutton, and stranger things than that, but I do not eat human meat. It is too tough and gives me indigestion. And if you hurry, I will hide you away and my brother will not eat you either. Otherwise he will smell you and hunt you down, and he knows this place better than you do, I daresay.” 

So Viktor’s servant and the little red dog go inside the stone cottage, which is a great deal bigger inside than out; and the giantess gives them a meal of meat and bread, and Viktor’s servant does not ask what kind of meat it is. As they are cleaning up afterwards, she asks him, “And what reason could you possibly have to stop by here? This is a dangerous place for most.” 

“I am journeying to find my lover,” Viktor’s servant explains, “Who is trapped in the uppermost room, of the tallest tower, of the highest castle, on the steepest mountain, in the furthest reaches of the kingdom. And he was taken by a man with bright armor, and a sharp sword, and a bold warhorse, and he is guarded by seventy and seven black sailing ships, and a company of cavalrymen on white horses, and a company of infantrymen with long pikes and uniforms all of scarlet. And I have none of those things, but I have a white porcelain cup, and a little red dog, and a fine silver mirror, and a small steel needle, and I suppose that will have to be enough.”

“That is not very much,” begins the giantess, but then they hear the stomping of boots outside. “Shh!” she whispers, and directs Viktor’s servant and the little red dog to crawl into a large chest, whereupon she covers them with wool blankets. “Do not make a sound. And when my brother has left in the morning, you may come out and be on your way.”

“Sara!” booms a loud voice, and Viktor’s servant holds the little dog and shudders. “Sara, what is that I smell?” 

“Only your dinner, Mickey,” says the giantess, “Eat it, or it shall get cold.” 

So the giant bites and chews and slurps his way through his meal, and when he is done he sits back and sniffs at the air. “Sara,” he says, “I have eaten my dinner, but there is still a smell. What is it?” 

“Only the washing, which is yet to be done,” says the giantess, “And which I have asked you to deal with, before.”

So the giant gathers up the washing and stomps outside and goes to the river and throws it all under a great waterfall; and when he has brought it back out and hung it to dry he comes stomping back into the cottage, colder and wetter. “Sara,” he says, “I have done the washing, and it is hanging to dry, but there is still a smell.”

“Hmph,” she says. “It is only—” but he stops her.

“Sara,” he says, “It smells like human.”

So the giantess sighs, and Viktor’s servant quakes, already wondering if he can dispatch a giant with a needle. “Very well, Mickey,” she says, “Emil stopped by today.”

“Emil!” roars the giant. “Emil! If I get my hands on him—”

“Mickey,” she interrupts, “He came here for you, not for me; and if you’d get your head out of your ass you might realize that. Now it is late, and time for bed.” 

So after much stomping and clattering, the cottage is quiet; and Viktor’s servant and the little dog sleep fitfully in the chest under the wool blankets. In the morning, the giant wakes early, and eats his breakfast, and is off; and the giantess opens the chest and pulls the blankets away. “Oh good, you’re still breathing,” she says, “Up with you, then. Help me a little around the house, won’t you? And then I’ll send you off.”

So Viktor’s servant and the little dog help clean and tidy, and have a little breakfast, and ready themselves to leave. “Now comb my hair,” says the giantess, and hands Viktor’s servant a polished wooden comb, “It is difficult for me to get all the knots out.” She sits, for only then is he tall enough to reach the giantess’ head, and he carefully combs out her hair.

“As I was saying,” she continues, “You do not have very much. And I have no armor, or sword, or horses, or great armies, for if I did I would use them for myself. But if you like, you may take that comb you are holding, and perhaps it will help you. And when you are done rescuing your love, perhaps you will find someone to come rescue me.”

———

The air grows thinner, and the wind grows stronger, and Viktor’s servant knows that he is almost there. When he rounds a corner, and sees a flash of gold and scarlet, his heart jumps—for he believes, for a moment, that it is one of the proud infantrymen in their scarlet uniform. But it is not.

It is, in fact, a cheerful young man, floating on the air; and when he spies Viktor’s servant, he drops down to the ground. “Hello!” he cries out. “Are you Yuuri-for-courage?”

“I am,” says Viktor’s servant, bemused.

“And you are on a quest,” says the cheerful young man, “To find your lover, who is locked away in the uppermost room of the tallest tower of the highest castle, and so on, and so forth, and who is coveted by a man with armor and sword and a very big horse, and who is guarded by all his armies, or at least the parts of them that aren’t busy trying to conquer the world. And all you have are a polished wooden comb, and a white porcelain cup, and a little red dog, and a fine silver mirror, and a small steel needle, and three furry hamsters.”

“What?” says Viktor’s servant, “How do you know all that? And I don’t have any hamsters.”

The cheerful young man winks. “Why, because I am a magician, and it is my job to know many things. And you do, in fact, have three furry hamsters, right…” the young man reaches behind Yuuri’s ear, and from there plucks three furry hamsters out of thin air. “...here!”

“Huh?”

“Just don’t let your dog eat them,” says the cheerful young man, “And when you are done with them, let them go; they will find their own way back to me.”

“I don’t understand,” says Viktor’s servant.

“What is there to understand?” says the cheerful young man. “Is it so surprising that someone might just want to see you succeed?”

“Well...but we have never met—”

“Haven’t we?” 

And Viktor’s servant looks closer, and thinks very hard, and finally says with great shame, “Phichit? Is that you?” 

“Do I look so different now?” 

While it is true that his clothes are much finer, and he has grown much taller, still; “No,” says Viktor’s servant, “I suppose not. I am sorry that I did not recognize you.” 

“Well,” Phichit says, waving his hand, “I hate to say it, but you’ve always been a little like that. Viktor this, and Viktor that, and not much time for anyone else, or even for yourself when it comes down to it.”

“Phichit, I—” 

“No, no,” Phichit says, “Now’s not the time, is it? Come here.” He gives Viktor’s servant a hug, warm and tight, and tells him, “There are plenty of people who love you, you know. And we know you love us back, even if you’re extremely bad at showing it.” He claps Viktor’s servant on the back. “Just be sure to remember the rest of us when it’s all over, okay? Go get your man, Yuuri.”

So, at last, armed with a small steel needle, and a fine silver mirror, and a little red dog, and a white porcelain cup, and a polished wooden comb, and three furry hamsters, Yuuri finds himself in the furthest reaches of the kingdom; and he climbs the steepest mountain, and when he reaches the walls of the highest castle, he looks up, up, to the uppermost room of the tallest tower, and there he sees the shine of silver hair.

 

 

**_escape_ **

Viktor weeps for thirty days and thirty nights, and at the end of them he finds he has no tears left at all; so that even when he pricks himself with a needle, or stubs his little toe, or looks out at the vast emptiness of the mountains around his lonely tower, he does not cry. After a while, he rationalizes that it is not so different to be hidden away in a tower than it is to be hidden away in a palace. He misses Yuuri, of course, but that is a terribly selfish thing to do. Yuuri, he supposes, ought to go on to find a new lover, one who is not nearly as much work.

Viktor is worth being guarded by armies, he is sure, but it is much less likely that he is also worth being rescued from armies.

Viktor’s fiance does not come to visit him, as he is too busy gathering all the gold and conquering all the nations, and Viktor’s guards are forbidden to look upon his face. Every once in a while, they send him a book. He amasses a nice little library and learns about many fine things, like the Siege of Megara and utilitarianism and calculus. He takes up knitting, and through a great deal of trial and error makes himself a knitted dog; and if he talks to the dog, and pretends it talks back to him, who is there to see it?

He dances, too, but in his little room there is not much space to dance.

Eventually, he gives up on dancing.

Some days, he looks out his little window, and fancies he can see someone coming for him, whether it be Yuuri or his fiance. The latter would come upon his great steed, in shining armor, bearing all the gold in the world, king of all the nations. Yuuri, of course, would come with none of these things. 

In a different story, Viktor would fall asleep, and not wake but for his true love’s kiss. And if so, were his fiance to come, he could kiss Viktor all he likes, and yet Viktor would sleep and dream forever. Which he supposes would be no great loss, to his fiance, who loves him for his eyes, and his skin, and his hair.

This is not that story, though, so instead of sleeping Viktor merely languishes. But in the meantime, Viktor’s hair grows and grows, and weighs heavily on his head; and not for the first time he wishes that his eyes were not like sapphires, and his skin was less fine than alabaster, and that he had been born with a normal hair color, besides.

And so the time passes, day after day; and the days pass out of counting, one by one.

———

When he first hears it, he believes that he has at last gone quite mad indeed, to think that his little knitted dog might be barking. Yet the sound is not coming from the toy, but from the open window; and it does not stop.

He peers out the window; and there is a little red dog, far below; and there beside the little red dog is his Yuuri.

So then he truly does believe he has gone mad, and he sinks down by the window, and for the first time in many months tears well unbidden to his eyes.

But the little red dog does not stop barking.

“Vicchan!” he hears, but to him it sounds like _Vitya_ , in the sweet tones of his lover’s voice, “Shh, Vicchan, there are soldiers around…”

If it is a hallucination, he reasons, surely there is no further harm in talking to it. So he leans out the window, and out tumbles his hair…when did it get so long?…and he hisses to the small figure below, “Yuuri?”

“ _Viktor!_ ” Yuuri cries, from the base of the tower, “Viktor, I’ve come for you. But…” here he looks around, “…I do not know how to climb the tower.”

“Are you real?” Viktor says, because he cannot quite believe it.

“I think so? But if I get up there, you can know for sure,” he adds.

“That would be silly,” Viktor says, “Why would you come up here?” 

“Because you are there, of course.” 

Something large and warm swells inside his chest, something that had been curled up small and tight before. “ _Yuuri_ ,” he laughs, “Stay there.”

So Viktor, who is clever but not always wise, takes his long, long hair and ties it to the window; and out the window he goes, using his hair as a rope. And it is not long before he stands next to Yuuri, and the little red dog, who are quite real indeed. “My Yuuri,” he sighs, and breathes in the scent of oranges and jasmine, and other, newer things. 

“Oh, Viktor,” Yuuri says. He is beginning to cry. “Viktor, you are still tied to the tower.” 

“Ah,” says Viktor. “Well, there’s nothing for it,” and he takes a little pen-knife, which is quite dull from sharpening nibs, and he saws at his hair until there is only a little left. “How’s that?” 

Yuuri’s jaw hangs slack, and Viktor falters. “Not good…?” he tries, but Yuuri shakes his head vigorously, flushing. 

“No, no, you are very handsome!”

They would have continued in this vein for some time, but soon hear the tromp of boots; and Yuuri freezes. “The soldiers,” he whispers.

“Right,” Viktor says. “I don’t suppose you have a horse…? Or a sword, or something like that.”

“No,” says Yuuri, “I have a small steel needle, which led me here, and I have Vicchan, who found you. And other than that I have a fine silver mirror, and a white porcelain cup, and a polished wooden comb, and three furry hamsters." 

“You’re not very well prepared, are you?” Viktor says. “But give me the mirror; and we shall see what I can do.” So Yuuri gives him the mirror.

The sun is high and bright in the sky, and so when the soldiers round the corner, Viktor shines the mirror in their eyes. And since their lord had forbidden them from looking upon Viktor, lest they be blinded, they believe for just long enough that his words had that power indeed—long enough for Yuuri and Viktor and the little red dog to run, away from the castle, and down the mountain path.

———

They run and run, but Viktor soon begins to tire; he has been locked in a tower for some time, after all. So Yuuri and the little dog slow, as well, and they walk for a little while. But it is not so long before they hear the sound of many heavy boots again, and turning back see scarlet uniforms, and long pikes, and rows upon rows of infantrymen.

“I don’t suppose you have a horse down _here_ ,” Viktor says, “Or a secret hiding place.”

“No,” says Yuuri, “I have a white porcelain cup, and a polished wooden comb, and three furry hamsters.” 

“Hmm,” says Viktor, who considers for a moment the military application of hamsters, “Give me the comb; and we shall see what I can do.” So Yuuri gives him the comb.

“This is a very nice comb,” Viktor says, “The sort of comb that belongs to a giantess; so perhaps it knows something about being giant itself.” He shrugs. “I have read a story that goes something like that, anyway. We should run, again. I am a little less tired now.”

They run and run, and as the shouting of men comes up behind them Viktor turns and throws down the comb; and because it is indeed that sort of story, the giantess’ comb grows and grows, until a great wooden wall stands between them and the army.

“Oh, wow,” Yuuri says. “How did you know it would do that?”

“I didn’t,” Viktor replies, “But it was worth trying.”

———

They run and run, but they can only run so long, so they walk for a little while. But it is not so long before they hear the clatter of hooves, and turning back see many nimble white horses, with men astride, streaming down towards them.

“I don’t suppose…?” Viktor says, and Yuuri shakes his head.

“I have a white porcelain cup,” he says, “And three furry hamsters.”

“Let me see the hamsters,” Viktor says, because if pigs can defeat elephants, perhaps hamsters can defeat horses. But luckily for the hamsters, there is no need to set anything on fire; they are a magician’s hamsters, and as soon as Viktor touches them they grow and twist until standing before them are three tall mares, with saddle and bridle.

“I guess we did have horses,” Yuuri says, perhaps a bit irritated that they had run on foot for so long.

“Quickly,” Viktor says, and places the little red dog in a saddlebag, and leaps on a horse.

Yuuri is nervous around horses, but he is significantly more nervous around cavalrymen, so he clambers atop a horse as well, and off they go.

———

They run and run. Three horses are more nimble than an army, and these are a magician’s horses, so they are faster still. But it is not so long before they have run so fast, and so far, that they come upon the shores of the ocean; and off in the distance but growing closer are a fleet of black sailing ships.

“We could hug the shore,” Yuuri offers, but their horses are tired; and when they dismount to rest them, they turn right back into hamsters again, and go scurrying off.

“What do you have left?” Viktor asks, and wordlessly Yuuri holds out the white porcelain cup.

Viktor drops it in the ocean.

“Wh—Viktor!” Yuuri exclaims, but even as he does so, right before his eyes sprouts a great ship, with white planks and white sails, all rigged and ready.

“Come on,” Viktor says, laughing, and pulls Yuuri aboard, and the little red dog Vicchan; and as soon as they are on the wind picks up and the ship skips forward over the waves.

“How did you _know_ ,” Yuuri says, shaking his head, and Viktor smiles.

“I didn’t,” he says, “But I ought to have, I think. Because I didn’t know that you would come for me; and I ought to have.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Yuuri complains, but Viktor gathers him in his arms giddily.

“No, I suppose not,” he exclaims, “Look, Yuuri, the black ships are passing from view; ahead is only freedom.”

———

The ship sets them down on a sandy beach, guarded by the cries of seagulls. “Oh,” Yuuri says, “I think I know this place.” He steps down onto the sand, holding out a hand for Viktor; the little red dog Vicchan leaps and gambols beside them.

The wind plays through Viktor’s jagged hair, and Yuuri stops. “But Viktor,” he says, “I have no vaults of gold, or halls of artwork, and certainly no castles.”

“Yuuri, my foolish Yuuri,” Viktor says, “Here, where the sun hits the sand, is gold beyond measure; and no sculpture can compare to the curves of your body; and I have had enough of castles for a lifetime, I think.” 

“Well, in that case,” Yuuri says, “Here is as good a place to settle as any. Although—I do have a few promises to keep, first.” 

“Oh?” Viktor says. “And of course, in any good story, the villain must get his comeuppance.”

But those are tales for another time; suffice it to say that promises were kept, and comeuppances gotten, and Viktor and Yuuri and the little red dog lived happily ever after.


End file.
